Thy Conspiracies

Poetry — Daily Poetry for The Master of Works #34

A conspiracy of Thee am aware of,
Of Thy plans to scuttle my earthly bed;
All comforts plucked away, all my grief
Too, yet remains a gesture of Thy dazzling light.

I am stripped bare and nude
And through my skin pass Thy deathless air:
I breathe now Thy vaster delight
And in my marrow feel Thy hurricane-pressure.

O what night can scare my stride
Into Thy denser light and truth
Or what pain fierce can defeat
My dreams of Thy joy and mirth?

Though bruised and beaten, I stand still
Upon the pedestal of Thy secret puissance.
All Thy heavens into me descend and dwell,
As I plunge deeper into this unholy Inconscience.

O Lord, if Thy conspiracies save and deliver,
So be it, so be it, my beloved Sire!